


Collectors

by havisham



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boss/Employee Relationship, Character Study, Curiosity, Do Not Archive, M/M, Pre-Canon, Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: A rare and supremely cursed artifact —  a silver straight razor of wicked reputation —  was about to be brought to auction. On Elias’ instructions, Jon was obliged to go out and bid for the item. Simple enough, though Jon would argue that none of this fell under his job description.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	Collectors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta, El!

A rare and supremely cursed artifact — a silver straight razor of wicked reputation — was about to be brought to auction. On Elias’ instructions, Jon was obliged to go out and bid for the item. Simple enough, though Jon would argue that none of this fell under his job description. 

However, Elias had insisted and Jon felt as though he couldn’t refuse. He’d only had the job for six months now and he was still vaguely anxious over pleasing Elias — as much as he could. Elias made gestures at being an enlightened modern boss, but he could be quite stringent with his demands when he wanted to be. 

Jon would know. 

Jon had to wear a suit and tie for the event, more formal than what he privately thought of as his Institute uniform — a dress shirt, a cardigan, trousers and a pair of brogues. The last time Jon had worn this suit, he’d been interviewing for the researcher position at the Institute. Elias had conducted the interview himself — an unusual occurrence, Jon would learn later — and had then destroyed him with devastating completeness. 

“There are formal occasions that must be considered, Mr. Sims. We will expect you to wear a suit that fits you.”

“I don’t put much importance in appearances,” Jon said, bristling. He didn’t know what prompted him to be so frank — especially with a man whose very being seemed to cry out _soulless upper management type_ — but Elias surprised him then by smiling.

It wasn’t a bad sort of smile — Elias was a handsome man, though not exactly Jon’s type. Jon’s type was — unexplored. Probably nonexistent. Certainly not Elias, even if there was an uneasy feeling at the pit of Jon’s stomach that could easily be fear or attraction. 

Anyway, Elias was speaking again.

“I hope you remain so forthright about your opinions, Mr. Sims. I think I’ve got everything I needed from you today. Rosie will contact you as soon as the decision has been made.”

His face was completely neutral now, no hint of a smile. When Jon reached out to shake his hand, there was a certain hesitation before Elias took it. His hand was cold against Jon’s. When he said he wished Jon well on the job search, Jon could tell he didn’t mean it. 

Jon went home, convinced of his awful failure. He _wanted_ to work at the Magnus Institute. It was true that its reputation wasn’t the best in academic or paranormal circles — the standards were too lax for one, too rigid for the other — but Jon had grown up reading the glossy annuals that collected some of the strangest stories and artifacts from the archives. His grandmother had disapproved of it, saying the material was morbid, but Jon had adored it. How else would anyone know to submit their spooky stories to the Magnus Institute, if not for the annual? 

Jon had even thought of giving a statement himself, over that troubling book his grandmother had given him so long ago, but the opportunity kept slipping his mind. 

But the thing was that Jon liked the _idea_ of working at the Magnus Institute. He wanted to do it. He thought he would do a good job there.

But all of that was for naught. 

He had trudged back to his flat in bad spirits — this was the third interview he’d bombed this week, and he was beginning to suspect that he was the common element here. Why hadn’t he just agreed to get a new suit? Why had he been so stubborn about something that ultimately didn’t matter at all?

The next morning, he received a call from Rosie, instructing him on what to bring in for his orientation. Jon was elated, happy as he could be. The only thing that brought him short was Rosie cheerfully bringing him to his office — office? He’d expected a cubicle or something — and then handing him Elias’ schedule. 

Jon examined it out of curiosity and then tried to give it back to her. She didn’t take it. She was a pretty, redheaded woman of about twenty-six, petite and completely immovable. 

“You see, I don’t need Elias’ schedule,” Jon said weakly. “I’m only a researcher.” 

“Look at your paperwork,” said Rosie, still smiling. Jon did look at his paperwork. It said that he was to be the _deputy_ head of the Magnus Institute, London. 

Jon panic-walked down the hall and let himself through to Elias’ office. There was someone already in there, sitting opposite Elias, a bigger man with fair hair and in a comfortable-looking blocky sweater. The man laughed when he saw Jon, but when Jon swung his head to get a better look at him, he’d already gone, with a murmured goodbye to Elias. 

Jon’s attention swung back to Elias. Clutching the back of one of the leather armchairs, he demanded, “What have you done?” 

“What have I done, Jon?” Elias said, taking a sip of coffee. “I’ve hired you. Most people would be grateful for the opportunity.” 

“But you’ve made me your _deputy_!” Jon cried out. “I’m not qualified for that. I interviewed for a researcher job.” 

“I had a vacancy and I thought you would be the perfect candidate to fill it,” Elias said, still in a tranquil voice. 

Jon stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t… really think that.” 

“Why not? Most people would be glad to make such an impression, Jon.” 

Jon tried to pull himself together and wondered at the sudden use of his given name as well. “I’ve no experience. I’m not the business type.”

Elias’ eyes fell on the packet that Jon was still clutching to his chest. The salary expectations had somehow gotten on top of the pile. Jon examined it and made several quick calculations. 

“London rents being as they are, I think you’ll find that being my deputy may be more lucrative than a researcher,” Elias said delicately. 

“But I’m — I’m an academic. At least, I’m trying to be,” Jon said. “I’m not tempted by greed.”

Elias sighed and began to message his temples. “Mr. Sims, let me be frank.” Jon perked up. Back to Mr. Sims, was it? 

Elias narrowed his eyes, training a cold glare on him. “I’m trying to help you. I have to say, this is the most dramatic job offer I’ve ever had the misfortune to be a part of. I don’t need such theatrics. If you’re going to say no, then do so.”

“Well. Right,” Jon said, folding his arms across his chest. After a long moment, he said, “Are you sure you don’t want to hire me as a researcher?”

“I’ve read your work; it’s not impressive.”

Jon bit back a sharp retort. He had asked for this, in a confusing sort of way. 

“Now,” Elias said, steepling his fingers together. “What’s your answer, Jon?” 

Jon accepted the offer. Elias was right about the rents. 

*

Jon wanted to _know._ That was his driving force in life and it didn’t stop just because he’d stumbled into the wrong job. His job duties didn’t particularly require much from him except to know Elias, but Elias seemed reluctant to let himself be known — at least at first. 

Besides, Jon wasn’t satisfied with that. 

First, he reached out to the researchers, trying to probe them as gently as he could about the types of stories they took in. Those encounters were awkward and no one seemed to like Jon’s attempts to find more information. Jon had no patience for the delicate work of understanding and respecting other people’s peculiar fiefdoms — whose specialties were what. He was as willing to read about 19th century naval disasters as he was 2010 missing persons cases. Given his new position, Jon had perhaps the most access to the Institute records, besides Elias. He took advantage of that. 

Most of the researchers stopped taking his calls and ignoring his emails after the first couple of months — they were tired of his persistent questions. It didn’t matter, really. Jon could track them down and ask questions face-to-face. 

This method did not work for the Archives staff, who were all much more wary and elusive than the researchers were. 

They were weird down there, in the Archives. Basement dwellers — not to be confused with the workers in Artifact Storage, who were the Sub-Basement dwellers, and perfectly friendly. The Archive staff on the other hand were _weird_. Aloof. Never mixed with the rest of the Institute if they could help it. 

The Head Archivist, a woman named Gertrude, seemed to be in very rarely. Once, Jon had caught a glimpse of her as she was hurrying in through the back stairway, and then they had nearly collided into each other. She had given him a brief but intense look of scrutiny — Jon felt as though he had been weighed, measured, and found wanting in the space of thirty seconds — and then she was gone.

He didn’t even get to ask her to answer the email he had sent her a few weeks back, about setting up an online database for the Archives. Digitizing records and all that. His inquiries had been met with stony silence. And unlike the rest of them, Jon was… slightly afraid to chase Gertrude down. 

The only archival assistant Jon got to know was a handsome man named Tim. They’d met during an opportune smoke break, although Tim had let it slip that he didn’t smoke at all. 

“What are you doing here, then?” Jon asked, trying to get his lighter to take. It was a rainy day and they had taken shelter under the eaves of the main building. He frowned, feeling his cigarette grow sodden in his mouth. Tim reached out, and like a magic trick, lit Jon’s cigarette. 

“All right, the truth is that I’m trying to quit,” he admitted with a crooked, charming smile. He accepted Jon’s offer of a puff and took a deep suck before he gave it back to Jon, who had to be careful not to drop it. 

He was suddenly and strangely nervous. He glanced down and asked Tim if he knew what was going on with the Institute. Tim gave him a speculative smile. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Jon.” 

“It’s just that — ” Jon paused, trying to collect his thoughts. “Everything here is so scattered. I don’t understand it. Similar institutes like this have already been digitizing their records for decades now, but Gertrude won’t even have a meeting with me. When I ask Elias, he says the decision is up to Gertrude. _It makes no sense_.” 

Tim smirked. “You’re trying to make sense of an institution as stagnant and backwards as this. And you’re not going to change things just by asking nicely.” 

“Elias listens to me.” 

“Yes, yes, Eliaslistens, Elias _sees_ everything,” Tim said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “But I wouldn’t put much stock in everything he says.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Jon said, trying to probe deeper. He wasn’t fooling himself, he was intrigued by Elias, but Tim was honestly the first person at the Institute who had bothered to answer the questions he really wanted the answers to. 

Tim squinted up at the sky — it had stopped raining. “I don’t want to talk about Elias, actually. Do you want to go have dinner later?” 

Startled, Jon accepted his invitation. They hooked up that night — Tim was fun in bed, and maybe even better-looking out of his clothes than he was in them, but there were certain hard limits on things he wanted to talk about. He didn’t like Jon nosing around things. His secrets were his own. 

They stopped seeing each other fairly soon. Jon accepted that easily enough. He’d tried being casual with Tim, but he wasn’t naturally a casual sort of person. 

Besides that, his job had finally begun to give him some answers to his persistent questions — specifically, what he was supposed to do. The annual needed doing, and it was the deputy’s job to bring it all together. 

Jon began to spend more and more time with Elias, and working in such close quarters could have easily led to the contempt that familiarity was supposed to bring, but Elias was — 

He had the driest sense of humor Jon had ever experienced, to the point that it wasn’t always clear that his jokes were in fact _jokes_. Not that Jon was absolutely the best person to pick up on jokes, but he felt it. At least he felt something when Elias would look up and nail him with the briefest, dirtiest smile before he went back to work. 

Elias was handsome, in a strangely understated way that escaped notice until he was right there, handing you a page, or looking off for a moment, his pale blue eyes a compelling contrast to his dark hair, shot through with silver, or caught in a sudden stillness that seemed to imply more going on in his brain than thoughts of budgets and cost-saving measures. 

When he touched Jon, even briefly, even dispassionately, a little current would run from his hand through Jon’s shoulder. It was delicious. Addictive. _Strange._

There was also the matter of people like Peter Lukas, whom Jon had seen on his first day at the job, though he hadn’t made his acquaintance until some time afterwards. The Lukas family was important — their donations were a vital part of the Magnus Institute budget — and thus none of them could be ignored. _Peter_ could not be ignored, although Jon wished that he sometimes could. Ignore the ways Peter and Elias would collude with each other, talking in low voices about things Jon couldn’t quite catch, didn’t know about. 

It was annoying and a little humiliating. More than anything in the world, Jon disliked not knowing. His ignorance felt like a splinter underneath his skin, begging to be expelled from his body. 

When Jon tried to express this sentiment — as inchoate and vague as he knew it to be — Elias looked at him blankly. “Peter is a means to an end, Jon,” he said, tapping his long fingers against the desk. “His interests are different from ours.” 

“Do you and I have the same interests?” Jon questioned. Elias looked at him fondly. 

“Yes, Jon. You’ll see that it’s true, soon enough.” 

Jon didn’t know what to do with these kinds of mysterious pronouncements. It truly did seem like Elias was talking about more than merely running the Institute securely and well — to “deliver its housed wisdom to the new generation”, or whatever the copy on the annual said. 

The night the annual went to the printers, Elias asked with a wry smile if Jon would care to have a glass of champagne at Elias’ house — and well, Jon, despite his lack of experience, saw the offer for what it was. And he accepted it. He seemed to do that a lot with Elias’ offers. 

Elias’ house was lovely, ancient and well-maintained. It also did not seem like he was there often, although there were certain dark passages that something in Jon twitched to explore. Elias clocked it and told him indulgently about the history of the house, of what had been there before and why. They sat in his library until midnight, talking of history, architectural and personal. For the first time since Jon had joined the Institute, he felt — satisfied. 

When the clock struck a quarter past midnight, he leaned against the wingback chair he’d been sitting on and sighed. “I feel like I’m _stuffed._ But — ” He took out his phone and stared at it. “God, I didn’t realize the time.” 

He tried to stand up, but his limbs felt too tired to move. Elias, who had been playing with the chessboard in front of him, stopped and looked up. “You don’t have to go. Stay for the night.” 

Jon felt himself flush to the roots of his hair. “I couldn’t. Elias.” 

“It’s no trouble, Jon. I’m a good host, I assure you.” 

Elias stood up and approached him. Jon was watching. When Elias bent down to kiss him, Jon kissed him back. He was _so_ interested in what would happen next.

*

The thing with Elias happened almost accidentally, on Jon’s part, although looking back, he could see the trajectory of it perfectly clear. Jon had never really been invested in fucking, until now. He’d dated Georgie, but they’d made far better friends than lovers. But having spent so much time with Elias — he’d learned to appreciate his boss in a more personal way. In a _much_ morepersonal way. 

The Monday afterwards, Jon came back to work anticipating changes all around him. But nothing really had changed. Elias treated him the same as ever. The researchers avoided him. He never saw the Archives staff, except Tim in the lift during lunch. Tim’s eyes had slid right past Jon, which would’ve been understandable, except they were standing a meter apart. 

Jon wondered if Tim knew. He wondered if everyone knew. He wasn’t certain that he would be particularly upset if they did. Jon valued the truth more than his reputation. 

Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to be shouting from the rooftops that he’d slept with Elias, or that he planned to do it again. He doubted Elias would appreciate it, anyway. 

And Jon _could_ be considerate. Really, he could. 

*

Jon was sitting off to the side in the auction hall, his head bent over the catalogue. His item, a silver straight razor, was in the middle of the auction. He had plenty of time to prepare. Just as he thought that, a man sat down next to him with a sigh. He looked over and gave Jon a cheery smile. 

“Hello Jon,” he said brightly. 

“Mm,” said Jon neutrally. “Nice to see you here, Mr. Lukas. I assume the _Tundra_ is still in port?” 

“Correct. I see that we’re set to bid against each other today. That should be a fun time.”

“Why do you want it?” Jon asked, honestly curious. He knew why _Elias_ wanted it — the silver razor had caused every previous owner to cut his or her own throat. It was a singularly dangerous antique, not truly appropriate to be sold to the public by any means — if one believed the stories, which Jon naturally did not. Still, such an object would be best contained in the sub-basement of the Magnus Institute, in Artifact Storage, where it could harm no one.

“Because Elias wants it,” Peter said. His lip curled upward. He reached out and put his hand on Jon’s thigh for a moment before moving it away. “And I am _very_ jealous. In the proper sense of the word.”

“Well, it’s not yours yet,” Jon muttered, almost to himself. 

His phone buzzed. It was Elias, who wanted to know the progress of the auction. Jon sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon. 

The bidding war was short but deadly. Peter was outwardly a very genial man with affable manners, but Jon wasn’t fooled. He was ruthless when he wanted to be, cold and calculating. It wasn’t such a surprise that he and Elias should be such great friends. 

He also couldn’t stop touching Jon as the bidding heated up, touches that couldn’t be interpreted as anything but friendly, except — _why the hell was he touching Jon’s arm just now?_

Peter allowed Jon to get the upper hand on the bidding at first, thinking that he might have gotten it away from another bidder at the back of the hall, before swooping in at the last moment, blowing Jon’s upper bid out of the water. 

The silver razor wasn’t to be his. As the gavel hit the podium, Jon sighed and texted to let Elias know the outcome of the auction. Artifact Storage would be missing another sinister addition to its hold.

But as he was about to make his escape, Peter stopped him. Whatever else could be used to describe him — friendly, easy, cheerful, pale as a corpse — there was one inescapable fact of Peter Lukas. He could not be denied. “You’re having dinner with me, Jon.”

“I can’t,” Jon said quickly, to avoid saying he didn’t want to. Vaguely, he remembered that he was supposed to be having dinner with Elias, in celebration of their newest acquisition. He didn’t know what the plans were now, but surely they didn’t include Peter Lukas. 

Jon was very, very wrong about that.

*

Elias himself was waiting for them at the restaurant. He looked up from browsing the menu to give Jon a fond smile. “I see that you and Peter accompanied each other to the auction. Are you here in a professional capacity, Peter? Speak now, please.”

“I’ve come to collect on a bet, Elias,” Peter said, striding toward the seat and taking it. The two of them turned their heads in Jon’s direction with twin looks of expectation. Jon felt tense and unhappy — he tried catching Elias’ eye, to express this — but he felt as if he could not refuse such a clear invitation. He took his seat and prepared for an ordeal for dinner. 

Elias tried to keep the conversation flowing, but having dinner with Peter Lukas almost always seemed to come with some strange flavor of isolation and malaise that Jon couldn’t ever understand fully. 

Eventually, Jon’s patience, worn thin throughout the entire day, snapped at some idle remark on Peter’s part — something cryptic and cynical that only Elias understood and responded to. Jon dropped his spoon onto his plate, which made a strangely loud reverberation around them. Although he knew perfectly well they were seated in a private dining room in Chelsea, for some strange moment, Jon felt as if they were in some wardroom on a ship that was lost at sea. 

“Could the two of you tell me, please, what the hell is the matter with you,” Jon said. He picked up his spoon again and pointed it at both Elias and Peter Lukas.

Peter yawned. 

Elias narrowed his eyes. “Do you truly wish to know, Jon?” 

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Jon snapped back. 

“We worship complementary but differing gods,” Peter said. “It sometimes amuses us to collaborate.” 

Jon stared at him. Had Peter lost his senses completely?

Peter looked over at Elias. “See? He doesn’t believe us.” 

“Of course I don’t,” Jon said, recovering himself enough to speak. “It’s nonsense. _Gods?_ ”

“It was a mistake to bring him in this way,” Elias admitted as the dining room flooded with fog. Jon watched in horror as both he and Peter disappeared, along with the table and chairs and everything else. 

Jon was simply in a blank, white space. Alone and empty. His annoyance had turned into fury, because he knew — though he did not know _how_ he knew — that Peter and Elias had sent him to this blank white hell. 

And he had to find his way back again. 

*

It wasn’t totally a featureless waste. Jon found some signs that distinguished themselves from the gloom. He didn’t know how much time had passed, except that sometimes the fog was dark, and sometimes it was light. 

At some point, he noticed the silver razor floating above his head. He snatched it up before it could disappear — or before he could. He knew what it was, where it came from. The temptation it was supposed to have on its owners didn’t happen with him, but that was fair enough. He wasn’t its owner, after all. 

Instead, he used the razor to cut his way out of the place of fog and doubt, until he was suddenly regurgitated back into an old-fashioned bedroom that he recognized as belonging to Elias. Elias was there, dressed in incongruously colorful silk pajamas. He did not seem surprised to see Jon coming through. He put down the magazine he was reading — Elias still believed in print media. 

“Jon,” he said warmly. “You’re back.” 

“Elias… What happened?” As soon as Jon had stepped back into the real world — or what he supposed was the real world — his strength seemed to fail him. The razor clattered on the floor, nicking the board. He found himself stumbling toward Elias, becoming wrapped up in his arms. 

“Not everyone can survive the Lonely without any preparation. I disapproved of Peter’s impulsivity, but I am glad to know that you are so — hardy.” He brushed the hair from Jon’s forehead tenderly. “It bodes _so_ well for you, Jon.” 

“The things he said — _you said_ — they’re true?” 

“I cannot wait to brief you about our God, Jon.” Elias kissed him, softly at first and then deeper. “You are so worthy of _knowing_.” 

Jon’s heart raced at Elias articulating something that Jon had so long known about himself. He deserved to know, he was worthy of knowing. He let Elias lead him to bed and strip him down and spread him out. When Elias put his hands on Jon’s thighs, they trembled. 

“I made a mistake, drawing you too close at first. I understand your role much better now. Jon.” Elias pressed a kiss on the crease of Jon’s groin, moving downward at a glacial pace. Elias licked Jon’s cock as he asked him if he wished to be the Head Archivist. 

“But — Gertrude,” Jon said. He still had his wits about him enough to protest — though, from the sheer pleasure he felt at the thought of it, not enough to refuse. 

“She’s thinking of retiring,” Elias said indistinctly. “You would be perfect. An improvement. Exactly what the Institute needs.” 

Jon felt so much pleasure in hearing that, he forgot the rest of it or how he had gotten there or what could possibly be in front of him. He remembered only the heat of Elias’ mouth and the pleasure of getting what he wanted. 

Finally, he would _know._


End file.
